


The Other Book

by MsSir



Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: F/F, No Beta, Tumblr: Writing-prompt-s, fiction&femslashevent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-10
Updated: 2019-07-10
Packaged: 2020-06-03 10:19:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19461958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsSir/pseuds/MsSir
Summary: The Book wasn't what Miranda thought, but it was exactly what she needed.





	The Other Book

**Author's Note:**

> [The prompt:](https://writing-prompt-s.tumblr.com/post/180453685203/one-day-you-hear-your-doorbell-ring-and-when-you) One day you hear your doorbell ring and when you open it someone hands you a book, this book contains the thoughts and dreams other people had of you. The name of the person, relation and description of the dream or thought. Would you open it?

Once I was granted the necessary information about this Tome’s Owner, I did what I usually do: I sat with it for some time, just to get an idea of how people understood the Owner. Most humans are afraid of Miranda Priestly. She’s an artistic genius who is brief, blunt, and impatient with no tolerance for stupidity. Most people don’t know how to deal with one of those traits, let alone all of them and that was the Miranda most people came into contact with.

Luckily for me, I am neither stupid nor am I human.

I decided it was time to move realms. I appeared, in my human form, sitting mediation style on the roof of Miranda’s townhouse. There was small garden, a patio type space, but I knew it was empty. Miranda never comes up here without the insistence of her children.

The creation of the Tome requires three things: the Creator’s magic, energy, and the Bond. The energy needed to create the Tome was the trickier of the ingredients, because sometimes, there was more needed than I could give. Miranda Priestly is a well-known name and figure, that meant she’d appear in more thoughts and dreams than your average Joe. I wove my fingers together and cracked my knuckles, making myself ready. I was going to need a great deal of energy for this job and I was not above coming to the Owner’s space and, say, borrowing some of their energy.

I closed my eyes, hands open to receive, my powers awoke in full. I pulled from Miranda’s energy, mixed it with my own, and drew from the knowledge I was gifted as part of this assignment. Focusing only on mixing all of these energies, sunlight and water were pulled into a solid object and I felt the Tome come to rest in my palms. It was lighter than most considering what it would need to hold.

While the knowledge we are given with our assignments is more than enough to get the job done, this type of creation, that involves the Owner’s latent powers, allowed for even more knowledge of their being. So I knew, before I opened my eyes, this Tome would be related to Fashion.

And I was right.

I opened my eyes to find the cover of the September 1989 edition of _Runway Magazine_ staring back at me. I couldn’t help the small smile that appeared. Of course this was one of the most important books for Miranda, it was the first issue of _Runway_ with her at the helm.

For most of us, the Tome starts blank, just pages with our magic, our thoughts, a bit of our being, woven into its fibers, behind a cover waiting for the Bond. But a few of us always make sure to include a set of instructions for the Owner.

I’ve found that a lot of humans do not retain information when they are confused or filled with wonder or fear. I flipped open the Tome, checking the inside cover to make sure my version of our “How To” was present.

When I closed the Tome, my eyes caught a glimpse of the woman gracing the cover. For a moment, I wondered what her first “Letter from the Editor” read like, how she introduced herself to her audience, what did she include, how did she shape this new era for the magazine. The moment lasted long enough for my curiosity to win out. The situation at hand was somewhat time involved, but there was no rush, so I placed one hand on each side of the Tome and asked the shadow to fill with the original contents, to cheat and pretend it was complete. It obliged and I spent a good forty minutes on that roof enjoying the breeze, learning about the 80s, and glimpsing Miranda Priestly.

Afterward, I closed the Tome. Again, I placed one hand on each side and asked it to return to emptiness, to prepare itself for it’s true purpose. Once again, my magic filled the pages, imbedded itself in the fibers; it glittered, waiting for the Bond.

The amount of power needed to travel realms and create the Tome made appearing at Miranda’s front door feel like a piece of cake. I knocked firmly, unable to be ignored while not being overbearing. I could feel her, in the kitchen, the house still without her children.

It took her a moment to answer only because she wasn’t expecting anyone. She opened the door, rudeness on the tip of her tongue. She had pulled the door open without checking the peep-hole and my appearance froze her in place, robbing her of words.

Now, I created my human form centuries ago and while my peers have made changes to their own costumes, I saw no need. Humans always accepted me as human, or excused away what they couldn’t explain, so I spent my time perfecting my skill, manipulating energies, and training my thoughts–so I could do things like borrow energy and see the completion of the Bond before it was done. My form may not be 100% realistic, but it’s always passed the test.

But, in that moment, with Miranda’s eyes boring into me, I knew I failed. She started with my eyes, looking as if she could see the silver faking as blue, then she blinked and I knew she could. She took in my brown skin, the way the light reflected off of it; I watched something settle in her mind as not quite right. My form had dark grey, neatly twisted locks that fell to my shoulder blades and her thoughts wrapped around the way the color contradicted the youth of my face. (Most people assumed it was colored, but really, grey is just an easy color to create.) I just added to her suspicions by breaking the silence, because no matter what I tried–and I tried plenty–I could not remove the bells from my voice, “Good morning, Miriam.”

She stepped back at the use of her birth name, but it was the only choice, the only name that would assist me in completing my goal.

“What are you?” She asked. “Why are you here?” Her fear masquerading as anger.

I smiled, it was a bit sad. Most people never get to the real question, the question of what I am and she wouldn’t be getting an answer.

“I’m here because I have a delivery for you.” Her left eyebrow raised in a question. “I am here to give you this,” I held up the Tome, watched recognition flash in her mind, understood she no longer had her copy–vandalized by an jealous husband–understood her growing suspicion, the warring desire to have it.

“It is not what you think.”

The right eyebrow joined the left. I had her complete attention, even if it was given begrudgingly.

“This Tome has taken the form of the body of text you hold closest.” She blinked to stop herself from nodding, from confirming this issue’s place in her heart. “It will show you the thoughts and dreams created from your presence.”

Her eyebrows relaxed, but her head tilted, ever so slightly, to the left.

“Every dream you’ve been featured in and every thought you were the center of is contained in this book.”

“That is hardly large enough to handle such volume.”

There was no conceitedness in her words, and I smiled again. “Who said it held it all at the same time?”

She rolled her eyes instead of answering and I continued, “You decide which people, which dates and events you want to read and the Tome will pull them to the pages.”

“That is ridiculous.” She wanted to scoff but couldn’t bring herself to do it.

“Maybe. But there’s a reason you haven’t closed the door in my face.”

Annoyance crowded over her features, making it obvious she did not like being called out.

“Take the Tome, Miriam. My being carries on whether you read it or not.”

She blinked at the word “being,” her original wonderment coming back to the surface.

“Why should I trust you? You still haven’t answered my rather simple question: What are you?”

“You know that question isn’t simple. You also know you won’t be getting an answer.”

She moved back a step, wondering if she should call it as a bluff.

“Miriam, trusting me is unnecessary. You can take the Tome and ignore it, the contents unimportant. If you choose to read from it, you’ll remember truth needs not trust, it creates it.”

“If I choose to not take it?”

“At the least, you’ll wonder if you’ve lost your only chance at regaining what spite destroyed. At most, you’ll recognize you lost something else, something much greater, much more precious.”

I watched as she decided having another copy of this issue was worth the unanswered question, the preposterous claim, the uncomfortableness of my knowledge. She reached for the Tome and once she had a hold I felt the surprise that ran through her body at the energy surrounding the magazine. She wanted to let go, but couldn’t. My magic flowed through both the Tome and the Owner. She just happened to be one of the few that felt our energies mixing, even if she couldn’t explain it. Then, the connection was complete, the Bond created, the Creator, the Tome, and the Owner now linked.

Miranda's confusion was loud. She was rarely without words and it left her uncomfortable. The pull to explain was stronger than it had even been, but rules are rules. Instead, I let go and handed over the Tome completely.

She pulled it close and studied the cover as if she would discover it was a fake. She flipped through the pages; surprised to see the pages looked exactly as they had all those years ago when she approved them. It only added to her desire to call me a fraud.

I waited for her to meet my eyes, before I spoke, “This Tome has one purpose.” I couldn’t help but pause, to wait for her to push aside her doubt and hear me. She failed, her doubt too strong, but I still had her attention. “It’s purpose is to guide you to the things you need.”

She looked down at the Tome before she pushed it towards me, but in question, not return.

“You have to call forth the times and people, Miriam. Without that it’s just your copy of _Runway's_ 1989 September issue.” A smile formed on my face, “By the way, I loved your letter, what a powerful way to reintroduce Fashion to the idea of art.” She was surprised (and pleased) that I read it and that I found the underlying point. My smile grew at her approval and I winked. "Be well, Miriam You deserve it."

She looked down at the Tome again and when she looked up again I was gone. She looked to the street, knowing she wouldn't find me. I was formless as I followed her and the Tome into the townhouse and up to her study. Whatever she was doing in the Kitchen forgotten as she plotted out keyword searches. Miranda assumed the Tome was equal to a faerie-offer cake and wanted an idea of the traps or dangers it held. I didn't tell her the Tome's only dangers, it's traps, were human-made and human-avoided. Instead, I watched as she pulled out quite a few languages and relied on Google for a few more.

Unfortunately, her precise--and interesting--searches returned nothing of value. She didn't have the words needed to search for me (which would have proven useless if she had) and the terms she used for the Tome pulled up very little (the few links found only revealed parts of a "myth" and nothing about the bearer of the books).

She went over our brief interaction in her mind, four different times, each one sticking on my wish for her to be well before she decided (that being all she had to go on) I meant her no harm. But she didn't really believe it. 


End file.
